


In Repair

by thegraytigress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Bucky Barnes Feels, Drama, Gen, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Steve Rogers Feels, Team as Family, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraytigress/pseuds/thegraytigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are broken beyond repair. It takes a lot for Tony to realize that Bucky Barnes isn't one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Repair

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ and _The Avengers_ are the properties of Walt Disney Studios, Paramount Studios, and Marvel Studios. This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement was intended.
> 
>  **RATING:** T (for language, violence)
> 
>  **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I've read a lot of awesome stories about Steve finding Bucky and bringing him back to the Avengers and everyone being supportive and happy and getting along. Well, this isn't one :-). And I swear I didn't mean for this to get so angsty (and whumpy) but I failed. I'm sorry. There's a happy ending, though! As usual, no slash and the rating is mostly for Tony's mouth. Please read and enjoy!

“No, Cap,” Tony said, shaking his head.  “You aren’t bringing him here.  No way.  No way in hell.  _No._ ”

Of course, this was Captain America.  And Captain America didn’t usually take no for an answer, especially when he thought it went against his strict code of morals and ethics and other righteous nonsense.  So there was that to overcome.  But worse than that was the pained look of _rejection_ on Steve’s face.  It was heart-breaking, physically and pathetically heart-breaking, so see the disappointment in those blue eyes and that worry creasing his strong forehead and his lips twitching in the just the smallest bit of a frown before he managed to stop himself.  There was something inherently wrong in upsetting Captain America.  It was like not paying your taxes or not putting your hand over your heart during the national anthem or not rooting for Team USA during the Olympics.  It was just _wrong_.

But not wrong enough to make Tony agree to this.  This was, in a word, bullshit.

“I know this is a huge imposition, but he’s not safe anywhere else.  We need some place to lay low.  We got him out, but HYDRA’s probably after him.  And probably after me.”

Tony looked up from the helmet of his newest Iron Man suit.  “You’re not doing your argument any favors here.”

Steve sighed and shifted his weight nervously.  He looked… worn.  And worried.  He’d showered recently, but his hair wasn’t as meticulously brushed as it usually was.  He was dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt that seemed like it had been worn and washed one too many times and a jacket that still had dust on it.  He was haggard, with hollow eyes that rang of too many troubles and not enough sleep.  The whole mess with SHIELD imploding had been a couple of months ago, but he didn’t appear entirely recovered.  That was only adding to the needling sense of guilt plaguing Tony.  “Tony, listen…  I wouldn’t be coming here if there was another choice.  I don’t have one.  We’re on the run, and he’s not…  He needs help.”

“You are _not_ bringing that psycho into my tower,” Tony said.  “It’s not happening, Steve-o.  I like you.  I _love_ you, pal.  You’re Captain America.  For you, I’d do anything.  You know I would.  But for him?”  He wiped the sweat tickling his hairline on his temple, gritting his teeth and trying his damnedest to not show this was rattling him and making him unsure.  That niggling sense that he wasn’t doing a good thing was aggravating.  He used to be a master at ignoring it, at doing what was right by himself even when it wasn’t right by anyone else.  But that had been before he’d become Iron Man and an Avenger and Steve’s friend.  Before he’d flown a nuke through a portal to outer space and saved the world.  _Before_ all that.  As it stood now, that voice was getting louder and louder with every second Steve stood in front of him with a plaintive, desperate look plastered all over his young face.  “For Christ’s sake, he nearly killed you.  Remember that?”

Steve did remember that.  The grimace twisting his face was more than enough indication of it.  “I know.  But that wasn’t his fault.  HYDRA was in his head, Tony.  HYDRA made him do it.  All of it.  They brainwashed him.  They took his memories.  They took…”  Steve seemed positively crushed.  That was enough to drive pain right into Tony’s heart.  “He apologized.  He’s different now.”

Pain for Steve’s situation wasn’t enough to erase the truth or quash the anger and spite that immediately came.  “He’s still the Winter Soldier.  Saying sorry doesn’t really make it better.”

“You don’t know him,” Steve returned, taking a step closer to the workbench. “Come on.  We’ve been friends for a while now.  You ever known me to lie?”

“Lie?  Hell no.  You’re the world’s worst liar.  But you are awfully proficient at deluding yourself,” Tony said, pointing a screwdriver at Steve.  Steve’s face fell.  Tony sighed; he didn’t want to hurt Steve’s feelings, but there were some absolutes in this universe, and Steve’s capacity to see the best in everyone, to give _everyone_ the benefit of the doubt, was one of them.  Even after their little squabble right before the Battle of New York, it had been Steve who’d apologized first and foremost.  While the medics had been patching up his busted ribs and burned skin from the Chitauri weapon blast, he’d demanded Tony come over so he could tell him how wrong he was about what he’d said about Tony not being a hero.  They’d buried the hatchet, become friends despite their disparate personalities and Tony’s issues with trust and consistency and responsibility.  A lot of it had to do with Steve’s willingness to put up with him.  With Steve’s patience and integrity.  With Steve’s determination to make them and their team work.  That was Steve Rogers.  Selfless and brave and noble to a fault.  _To a fault._

And, as much as Tony cared about Steve, he didn’t want whatever came out of this misguided and insane attempt to rehabilitate the world’s deadliest assassin to be his fault.

“So you don’t think people deserve a second chance,” Steve said tightly.  The hurt was starting to turn into frustration.

Tony sighed.  He’d bickered with Steve plenty of times in past, debated and teased and flat-out defied him on the battlefield, but this time he just didn’t want to argue.  This was an emotionally charged issue, for more than just the obvious reasons.  “Some people do.  But some people are too far gone for help, let alone forgiveness.”  Steve looked away sharply.  “Come on, Cap.  This is a really bad idea.  You know what he did.”

“I know,” Steve said, his tone softer but tense.

“He’s a mass murderer.”

Steve flinched.  He tried to suppress it, but he couldn’t.  Tony knew this wasn’t easy for him, but trying to dress stuff up so it looked better wasn’t the answer.  Trying to repair something that was permanently broken wasn’t the answer, either.  God, that was hypocritical.  “I know.”

“He killed my–”

“I _know_ , Tony.”

“And you want me to let him into my home.  To be okay with him sleeping under _my_ roof and eating _my_ food and hanging around _my_ living room.  Shooting shit with the guys.  With our team.  You want me to be okay with that.”

“Just until he gets his bearings, okay?  I’m really sorry about this.  I really am.  And I’m really sorry about what happened with Howard – with your dad.”  Tony flinched despite himself.  Of course there wasn’t anything but complete and genuine sincerity in Steve’s voice, and that made it worse.  Being angry at him wasn’t fair.  Howard had been Steve’s friend.  “I wish there was something I could do to make it right.”

“There isn’t, aside from not asking me to do this.”

Steve grimaced.  “I know.  Believe me, Tony, I know.  And I wouldn’t, but I have no other place to take him.  My place in DC is compromised.  We’ve been living in motels for the last week, but he needs some constancy.  Some security.  And he needs someone to look at his arm.  It’s not working right anymore.”

“Oh, so it’s not even just living here.  You want me to play mechanic to his cyborg parts.”  Steve’s jaw tightened, and Tony almost regretted what he’d said.  This was always his response to things he found uncomfortable or upsetting.  Being an ass was second nature to him and a fantastic defense against things he didn’t want to acknowledge.  Like how being a good friend meant shoving aside his anger and grief because Steve was really the one suffering here and even if he didn’t give a damn about Barnes he cared a lot about Steve.

And whatever sort of monster Barnes was, Steve still thought he was his friend.

Steve sighed and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.  “You know what, it’s fine.  I’ll, uh, I’ll figure it out.  See you around, Tony.”  He turned and headed back out of the workshop.

Tony watched him go, the hard lines of his shoulders slumping slightly in fatigue he wasn’t making any effort to hide.  It was like seeing a kicked puppy slump off down an alley.  Tony shook his head, cursing all this crap and the mess he knew would come of this.  He tossed the screwdriver to the table in defeat.  “God damn it,” he grumbled.  “Just hold on a minute, Spangles.”

Steve turned and wore a relieved smile that immediately made Tony hate himself for being so weak.  _This is bullshit._

* * *

So the Winter Soldier moved into Avengers (formerly Stark) Tower.  Tony kept his distance, which wasn’t too hard, because for the first few days Barnes was there he hardly left the suite of rooms Tony had allotted him.  Nobody went in, and only Steve came out.  Steve came out looking tired and beaten and hungry.  There were bruises sometimes, bruises from Barnes lashing out, bruises that he hid with weak assurances and weaker smiles.  They were all worried about him.  The Avengers came and went from the Tower with jobs and missions of their own, but they all noticed Steve’s struggle.  Clint and Natasha.  Thor and Bruce.  Sam, even.  And though they were all worried about their captain, the man they all respected and trusted and flat-out admired, nobody questioned him or called him out on it.  No one expressed concern that this wasn’t right, that Steve shouldn’t be taking hits like this, that Steve shouldn’t be letting himself get hurt and rundown for a monster like Barnes.  No one except Tony.

“You look like shit,” he said one morning when he wandered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

Steve was slumped over the counter, half asleep over a bowl of cereal.  He physically jerked himself awake, dropping his spoon loudly on the granite countertop.  “What?  Oh.  Hi.”

Tony sat down beside him.  “I said: you look like shit,” he declared again, annunciating every syllable.  He was trying not to be pissed off about it, but he was.  This was bullshit.  _Really_ bullshit.  The whole mess with SHIELD had really done a number on Steve, and he needed rest and recovery, not playing sometimes nursemaid and sometimes punching bag to some insane assassin.  Tony had no idea what was going on in that suite of rooms, and he didn’t want to know.  He didn’t want to care.  He could have asked JARVIS he supposed, but he hadn’t and he wasn’t going to.  It wasn’t because he was above spying and prying.  It was because he was too angry.  “What the hell’s going on?”

Steve rubbed his red, swollen eyes and sniffed.  “Nightmares,” he said.

Tony shook his head.  “Yours or his?”

“His, mostly.  He’s…  He’s messed up bad, Tony.  Real bad.”  Steve’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Tony could have sworn he saw tears twinkle in the other man’s eyes for a second.  Then Steve sniffed and blinked and that was gone.  He picked up his spoon and shoveled Cheerios into his mouth.  “I don’t know how to help him.  He won’t let me close enough to help him.”

Tony was tempted to tell Steve that maybe that was a sign, that maybe Steve should quit this damn stupid crusade of his.  He hated seeing him hurt and rundown.  He wanted to tell Steve to take care of himself and let this madness go, but he didn’t.  After all the enabling Pepper and Rhodey had done for him over the years, he knew how to play the game.  “What does your buddy Wilson think?  He’s a therapist or something, isn’t he?”

Steve sniffed again and tipped his head a little.  “He’s a VA counselor,” Steve said.  “I think this goes a little beyond the usual things he hears.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be one-manning this.  What if Barnes really goes nuts?  What if you press the wrong button and trigger something?  What if–”

Steve went back to eating, and just like that Tony’s meager attempt to put a stop to this all went down the drain. “I can take it, Tony.  I’ll be fine.”  His jaw tightened in determination, and his eyes had a hard edge to them.  “It’ll be fine.”

The thing was Tony didn’t want it to be fine.  He wanted Steve back, the old Steve who hung around his workshop and sketched and who was so woefully ignorant about the future that it was just too much fun to teach (and tease) him.  He wanted the Steve who laughed at his lame jokes and who looked bewildered when he and Bruce talked shop and who sparred with Thor and Clint like it was his sacred mission to keep everyone in shape and ready for a fight.  He wanted the Steve who led the team and ran missions for SHIELD and who was never _bothered_ like this.  This new Steve seemed shaken and brittle and not at all like the old Steve.  This new Steve seemed just a tad bit obsessed, and Tony didn’t like that.  Tony didn’t want this to be fine.

He wanted Barnes _gone_.

* * *

But Barnes didn’t go.

Barnes got better.

Damn Steve and his eternal optimism.

Two weeks into Steve’s self-imposed exile, just when it seemed like it was never going to end and Tony and the rest of the team were about to stage some sort of intervention, Barnes seemed to turn the corner.  Barnes was out of their room.  He looked halfway normal, almost decent, his previously unkempt and snarled brown hair combed and the dirt and grime and blood cleaned from his skin.  He wasn’t clean shaven, and he wasn’t well per se, but he looked better, much better than the bedraggled, filthy animal Sam and Steve had brought into the Tower.  He was still pale, and his eyes were scarred in a way that made Tony simultaneously hate him and pity him.  He looked weird, dressed in common clothes with those metal fingers sticking out of short-sleeved shirts and jackets and sweaters.  And he didn’t talk.  The guy never spoke and never smiled and even hardly blinked.  Tony thought Natasha could be cold when it suited her, and Clint had the best poker face he’d ever seen.  Nothing got under his skin.  But Barnes?  Barnes looked _dead_ inside.  Emotionless.  Thoughtless.  _Senseless._ Barnes was a murdering monster who’d assassinated children, who’d incinerated buildings full of people and fired rifles into crowds, who’d killed the innocent and unsuspecting.  Barnes was the bastard who’d shot out the tires of Howard Stark’s car one night in 1984 and forced it off the road and into a ditch where Howard and his wife had died slowly and painfully, crushed under the remains of their Cadillac.  Barnes was a machine who didn’t think and didn’t feel.

Except when Steve smiled at him.  Then he looked almost human.

The others were okay about it, wary but accepting at least, as Steve slowly and gently pulled Barnes out of the hell of HYDRA’s programming and back into everyday life.  They had tentative smiles and soft words of encouragement and supportive looks.  Tony just couldn’t do it.  He didn’t want to feel happy or relieved.  He didn’t _want_ to accept it.  When Steve and Barnes came into a room, he left.  Didn’t matter what he was doing, with whom he was talking, or that it was his damn home so he shouldn’t ever have to leave any place in it.  He bolted.  He didn’t eat with them, didn’t chat with them.  The others gathered for movies and games, like the Avengers had been before Barnes had come to the Tower, but Tony always had an excuse to not participate.  Bruce called him out on it, of course, because it was in Bruce’s nature to smooth over Tony’s foibles and point out his weaknesses.  For being someone who hated confrontation, closeness, and listening, Bruce liked mediating things.  But Tony didn’t want this mediated or ameliorated or any of that crap.

He felt a tad bit ridiculous.  If this was really about his parents (well, a significant part of it was, but that wasn’t the whole of it and it _should_ have been), he wouldn’t have felt so _childish_.  When SHIELD’s and HYDRA’s secrets had been dumped on the internet, he’d had JARVIS go through every bit of information they could get their hands on.  It had hurt to find out HYDRA had been responsible for his parents’ deaths of course (even though he had to admit it made sense because part of him had never been able to believe the crash was an accident).  It had hurt to find out the Winter Soldier had assassinated them.  He was angry and bitter.  But he was also older and wiser (hopefully).  He’d lost them twenty years ago.  He’d made his peace with it.  Knowing that Barnes had done it didn’t change the fact that it was done.  Knowing that Barnes had done it couldn’t bring them back.  So what good did getting upset about it do?

Nothing, but he still was.

More than this, though, he didn’t like Barnes and the way Steve’s world had become _him_.  He knew Steve and Barnes had been close friends, _best_ friends, during their childhoods in Brooklyn.  Steve had been small and weak and sick all the time back then, and Barnes had looked after him.  Taken care of him.  The Steve Rogers Tony knew never needed _anyone_ to take care of him, so he couldn’t picture a relationship like that, based on one-sided protection and reliance rather than mutual independence and capability.  And he knew how much Steve cared about him.  Their friendship was literally the stuff of legend, a brotherhood chronicled in books and research articles and Smithsonian exhibits.  A brotherhood heralded as almost saintly, and one that was filled with loyalty and love and sacrifice.  Up until these tense days, Tony had never cared.  He’d never begrudged it, because it had been in the past.  He’d never even thought about it, what Barnes had meant to Steve.  Now the evidence was right _there_ , right in front of his eyes.  Barnes had nearly killed Steve, and then Steve had practically _killed himself_ to get Barnes back.  That was stupid and foolhardy and ludicrous.  Steve should know _better._

However, the others were okay.  A few days later, as Barnes came more and more out of his shell, they became even happy about it, Thor and Sam in particular.  Natasha and Clint were still a little uncertain, but they weren’t so different than Barnes, so it was only a matter of time before they came around.  And Bruce thought of Barnes more like an anomaly, so he was naturally interested (the traitor).  But Tony stubbornly held on.  He didn’t want him there.  Barnes was a murderer, the Winter Soldier, and no matter who he had been, he wasn’t ever going to be anything else.

* * *

Not exactly.

“What do you think about Bucky coming with us next time?”

“What?  You mean, like, _with_ us, with us?  With the team?”  Tony couldn’t believe what Steve was asking.  Couldn’t freaking _believe it._   He didn’t look up from his workstation, jabbing his hands a little harder than necessary into the holographic display (which messed up his schematics, but, damn it, he was _angry_ ).  The words were out of his mouth before the thought better of it.  “You’re the captain.”

Steve was too perceptive to not notice everything behind that curt response but apparently not perceptive enough to figure out why Tony had a problem with this.  “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Tony–”

“Isn’t it time for him to, I dunno, move out?  He’s fixed.”

Tony pretended not to see the hurt expression claiming Steve’s face.  Damn him.  He was such an open book.  That used to piss Tony off something fierce, how open and honest and sincere Steve was all the time.  Now it was just a weapon to remind Tony that he was being an ass.  “Tony, he’s not fixed.  It’s going to take a lot more time than this.  We can’t just repair this like one of your machines.”

“You can repair anything,” Tony countered.  He wasn’t sure he believed that.  He just wanted to argue.

Steve sighed.  “He’s just better.  One small step at a time he’s getting better.”

“Well, isn’t he better enough to move on?”

“And go where?  And do what?  People all over the world are still gunning for him.  If the government gets wind that he’s here, they could come after him.  He’s a–”

“Mass murderer,” Tony supplied.  “That hasn’t changed, Cap.”

Steve was hurt.  “That wasn’t his choice.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t change what he is.”

“Why can’t you give him a chance?”

It occurred to Tony for the first time that his cold refusal to even acknowledge Barnes was putting Steve in a tough position.  As much as his pettiness felt like good, solid vindication, it wasn’t.  And he realized that he was skirting dangerously close to making Steve choose.  “Because he doesn’t deserve one.  One month of hanging around my tower pretending that everything is cool and getting chummy with the team doesn’t erase fifty years of killing people.  And it doesn’t erase the fact that you almost died because he shot you.  He shot you four times.”

Steve’s face was white, like he’d been caught in his own lie.  “I can forgive him for that.”

“You’d forgive anyone for anything if you thought you could save them,” Tony said.  “I’m not as good as you are.  I’m not Captain America.”  Steve flinched and opened his mouth, probably to deny that self-deprecating nonsense, but Tony never gave him a chance.  Besides, it was true.  “Maybe I can’t forgive him for killing my parents.”  He gave up any pretense of trying to work.  And he gave up any pretense of hiding what this was really about.  “And maybe I can’t forgive him for hurting you.  You almost died.  I was scared shitless.  There, I said it, okay?  I was _scared_ that we were going to lose you.”

Steve looked like he’d never considered that other people might have been worried or upset or frightened at how close he’d come to dying two months ago.  “I’m okay, Tony.  And he pulled me out of the river.”

“And left you on the side of it to bleed to death.  Look, Steve, you’re not going to convince me that he’s reformed.  It’s just not going to happen.  Maybe that makes me an asshole; it probably does.  You have all these awesome memories of him from the good old days.  I get that, okay, I do.  He was a swell guy, your best bud, an all-around fantastic slice of life, a real American war hero.  But that man is dead.  And all I have are memories of you lying in the ICU with a goddamn tube down your throat so you could breathe because you weren’t strong enough to do it yourself.”

That was harsh.  Harsher than he intended, but he was feeling increasingly emotional and he hated it.  Steve was stiff in front of him.  He couldn’t meet his gaze.  “He’s not dead, Tony.”

There was a hell of a lot of pain and fear in that.  And a hell of a lot of denial.  “He’s _gone_ , Steve.”

“He’s not.  I swear to you, he’s not.  He’s trying.  I know he is.  I know I can bring him back.  He’s remembering who he was before HYDRA took him.  He’s remembering.  And he wants to help us.”

“Steve–”

Steve set his jaw and straightened his impressive form and squared his shoulders.  Tony knew that look.  There was no point in arguing about this.  Steve was stubborn.  _So stubborn._   They both were.  But Tony was learning more and more when to cut his losses.  And he was learning more and more that his opinion didn’t matter.  At least not about this.  “You’re the captain, Captain.”

* * *

Barnes wasn’t an Avenger yet, though.  Admittedly, with his skillset, there wasn’t much else he could be.  He was a trained assassin, highly skilled in sharp-shooting, and whatever serum HYDRA had put in his body had made him nearly as strong and fast and resilient as Captain America.  But his metal arm was a problem.  Steve had been right; it wasn’t working properly anymore.  Barnes still didn’t talk much, but he’d apparently told Steve and Bruce that HYDRA had continually performed some sort of restorative maintenance on it.  He didn’t know what, so that wasn’t much help.  Tony had to admit his interest was piqued; this was cybernetic technology that far surpassed anything he’d ever seen before.  He couldn’t even easily identify the metallic alloys in it (by sight, because he sure as shit wasn’t touching it).  The engineer in him really wanted to examine it, play around with it, figure out how it worked.  But every other part of him thought that fixing that ugly, evil thing was about as much bullshit as Barnes living in his tower, so he told his curiosity to stuff it and ignored even the slightest intimation from Steve or Bruce or anyone else that Barnes needed his help.

It got harder and harder to keep his distance as Barnes became more and more a part of their team.  Their family.  Their life.  Barnes was at dinner all the time now.  He joined in on movie night.  He worked out down in the gym with Steve.  He even smiled on occasion.  He hung out with Clint a lot because they had a lot in common and similar personalities (at least, his new personality was similar to Clint’s), and Sam (who was another person just _added_ to the team, though Tony didn’t mind much; Sam was a good guy, and anybody who used his tech to fly and kick ass was okay in his book) was so easy-going that it was never a question that they’d hit it off.  Thor was friendly with everyone.  He was downright gregarious.  Tony supposed accepting the fact that his own brother had been evil had probably tempered his dislike of consorting with villains.  Bruce was too mellow and reasonable to be off-put.  Science could explain everything for him, and Barnes had been tortured and drugged and traumatized by countless memory wipes that had permanently altered his brain to the point where he couldn’t remember (or be held responsible) for his atrocities.  That was great, in Tony’s opinion.  The insanity defense.  More bullshit.

Even Natasha, who’d been the most reluctant of them, was friendly with him now.  She also shared a common past with him.  Tony had heard from Clint that they’d known each other when they’d both worked for the KGB.  Somehow Barnes’ recovery seemed akin to her own.  Now that SHIELD was gone and all of her secrets were exposed, it had been harder for her to move on.  She’d been shaken, incredibly so.  However, with Barnes there recovering from his own dark past, she knew she wasn’t alone.  She knew there was hope, because he was getting better.  She seemed more at peace than Tony could ever remember seeing her.  She seemed content with it, and the Winter Soldier had _shot_ her, too.  Twice.

Was he the only one who had any common sense left?  _That_ was ironic.  But it certainly seemed that way because two months into Barnes’ elongated stay at Avengers Tower, Tony was pretty much the only hold out.  He was both ashamed and proud of it.  Life was screwed up that way.

“It would mean a lot to Steve if you’d do it,” Bruce said as they worked together in one of the labs one afternoon.  Bruce’s fingers were moving deftly between a few touchscreens and his laptop as he worked through some data for a paper he was writing.  Tony was trying to perfect a new repulsor prototype, but he was being distracted by Bruce’s persistent do-gooderness.  “I’m not trying to pressure you unfairly.”

“Leveraging Steve’s feelings against me is pretty much the definition of unfair,” Tony returned, trying not to seem as angry as he was.  “Steve’s feelings are the only reason why I agreed to let that asshole into my home in the first place.  And, lo, he’s still here!  So much for it being temporary.”

“Why do you hate him so much?” Bruce asked.

“What, killing my parents isn’t a good enough reason?”

“No, it is,” Bruce said.  Tony must have been glaring because he raised his hands in appeasement.  “I just…  I know you, Tony.  This isn’t just about your parents.  You’re a good person.  You’d work past that if you tried.  And for Steve, I think you would.  This is going beyond that.”

“Drop it, Banner.”

Bruce’s expression tightened a bit in disapproval and disappointment.  He didn’t drop it.  Bruce could be stubborn too when it suited him.  “Steve’s worried about you.  He won’t come out and say it, but he is.  He thinks this is his fault.”

“Tell him he’s right.”  And it was.  If Steve hadn’t come and _asked_ for his help, if he hadn’t gone on some crazy quest to rescue the Winter Soldier, if he hadn’t been so _obsessed_ with bringing him back…  The bitterness and resentment was almost too much.  This wasn’t like him.  These feelings had grown and festered and blown themselves _way_ out of proportion.  And he wasn’t blind to what he was unintentionally doing.  In the past couple of months, as he’d kept away from Barnes, he’d pulled away from Steve, too.  Steve wasn’t sketching in his workshop anymore.  Steve wasn’t _talking_ to him anymore (though, to be fair, he’d tried a few times, but Barnes was always right there like this skulking shadow clinging to him and Tony couldn’t stand it).  The last couple missions as Avengers had been all business, all orders and reports and objectives, without their usual camaraderie.  He was sacrificing his friendship with Steve because he was pissed off.  He wasn’t even sure why he was so pissed off anymore.

Bruce eyed him critically.  “You’re jealous of him.”

“Excuse me?”  He was not getting called out this way.  It was not happening.  _Not happening._

But it was happening.  Bruce smiled a little.  That made it worse.  “You’re jealous that Steve’s so busy with something else.  With someone else.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but his heart was pounding a little and his hands fumbled a bit with his tools.  “You’re full of shit.”

“You are.  Back before all of this happened, Steve was always so focused on making the team work, and a huge part of that was making _you_ work with everyone else.  You were the dysfunctional friend.  No offense.”

“No offense?  Are you serious?”

“I didn’t think you two would ever hit it off.  But you did, and then you guys were completely in sync with each other for weeks.  For months.  We all noticed.  Now Barnes is here and you’re not the center of his attention anymore.”

“God, Bruce.  I’m not five.”

“You’re acting like you are.”

“I thought you weren’t that kind of doctor.  And furthermore, I am _not_ jealous.  Not even a little.  That’s the dumbest thing I have ever heard.  And you’re a jerk for even bringing it up.”  He tried to hide the hurt in his voice.  And the embarrassment.  And the guilt.

“Just…  Just think about it, alright?  His arm isn’t working right, and it’ll probably get worse over time.  It interfaces directly with his nervous system, and those parts are damaged.  I think I can fix it, but I need you to design new…”

Tony stopped listening.  This whole thing kept rubbing him the wrong way, rubbing and rubbing and _rubbing_ him raw, and he didn’t care what Barnes needed.  Now that Bruce had said it, he knew it was true.  Some small part of him _was_ jealous.  Jealous that Steve cared so much about someone else and a goddamn murdering monster at that.  Steve was _their_ captain and _their_ friend.  _His_ friend.  He idly wondered when he’d become so possessive to actually care about things like this, but he had.  Almost losing Steve during the fight with the SHIELD helicarriers over the Potomac had shaken him in ways he didn’t want to admit.  It was still shaking him.

And it wasn’t just because he cared about Steve as a friend.  Steve was Captain America, and if they lost him…

He didn’t trust Barnes.  Nothing anyone could say or do was going to change that.

* * *

As was the wont of situations like this, it got worse.

It got worse fast.

The team went to put down a robotic army invading midtown Manhattan (why was it always midtown Manhattan?).  Barnes went with them; there was no reason for him to stay behind, especially when the fighting was literally right outside Stark Tower and they were literally overwhelmed a dozen to one.  The battle went on for quite some time, full of chaos and close-calls and split seconds between life and death.  They were holding their own, but just barely so.  Tony, Thor, and Sam were busy keeping the fight contained in the air.  Steve, Bruce, and Natasha were battling the horde in the streets.  And Clint and Barnes were assigned with the critical task of keeping all of them, but particularly those of them on the ground, from becoming overwhelmed.  They were moving from building to building, armed with bows and sniper rifles and deadly accuracy.  These robotic bastards weren’t tough, but there was so many of them and the team was wearing with exhaustion.  This was a house of cards on a shaking table, and one falling toppled them all.

Barnes’ position became compromised.  “I can’t hold this!” he yelled through the communications link as he jumped to a lower rooftop and ran from the flood of robots chasing him.

“Iron Man, get him clear!” yelled Steve.  He whirled to block a blow from one of the robots with his shield.  The enemy flew across the street from the impact and smashed into a storefront.  “Iron Man!”

Tony took one look at Barnes and decided it wasn’t necessary.  It had been a while since he’d defied orders like this, and he was doing it without even thinking it through.  If the Winter Soldier couldn’t hold his own out there, he didn’t belong with them.  “He’s fine, Cap,” he said, firing at another slew of robots as they took to the air.

An arrow landed in the robot with which Steve was grappling, and Clint turned from his position atop one of the buildings along the street to unload the rest of his quiver into Barnes’ pursuers.  “Damn it, Stark!  I mean it!  Get–”  Steve’s order was cut off as he was overwhelmed in his distraction.  Thor dropped to the ground beside him, Mjölnir racing through the air as he pulled the horde of enemies away.

Clint ran out of arrows.  He hopped down from the building, Tony snatching him in midair and setting him to the street.  He yanked a handgun loose and started firing round after round into the fray.  Barnes jumped down to the road by himself, flushed at last by his pursuers from the rooftops.  He landed roughly, stumbling and running away as fast as he could.  In the distance the Hulk roared.  “Thor!” Steve cried.  “Fly!  Tell the Hulk to come over here!  We’re gonna get crushed if we don’t get a handle on this!”

Thor nodded, spinning Mjölnir as he shot up from the street and back into the air.  With both of their snipers grounded and unable to cover them, the robots were firing in earnest from the air.  The Avengers dodged and fought like mad.  It was a barely controlled frenzy of fists and boots and lasers and bullets.  And, as stressed as it was at this point, all it took was one second for it to fall apart.

Barnes got knocked down.  Sam swept low to yank the robot threatening him off its feet, but Barnes was dazed and clumsy when he got back up.  Steve had been protecting Natasha, holding his shield behind her to cover her back as she jabbed her Widow’s Bite into the chest of the closet robot, but he shifted his position to see Barnes and what was happening.  He threw his shield to knock back another robot advancing on his staggering friend.  Their enemies immediately closed in on Natasha when they saw the opening.  Barnes brought his rifle up to aim at assailants screaming towards her, his metal arm glinting in the fire and smoke.  He didn’t shoot.  “Barnes, take the shot!  I’m out!”  Clint cried.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted in desperation.

But in the endless second that followed, he never fired.

And Natasha got hit.

She went down with a cry, holding her burned and bleeding leg.  Steve was back over her in a breath, fighting powerfully to get the robots away before they could deal a killing blow.  He protected her with his own body until his shield was back on his arm.  “Widow’s down!” he yelled over the communications link.  He swept her up into his arms and vaulted across the street, leaping nimbly onto car hoods and across debris before tucking her into an alley.

Tony watched in horror, his heart pounding, shooting at everything and anything.  He frantically took out the robots chasing his captain, allowing Steve to kneel and set Natasha down.  Tony landed beside him with a heavy clank.  “Shit.”

Steve immediately put firm pressure on her leg, which was gushing blood.  Natasha grimaced in pain.  “Steve, I’m alright.”

Steve ignored her.  “Tony,” he said tightly, “get her out of here.”  Tony couldn’t read the tone in Steve’s voice.  Anger.  Disappointment.  Fear.  All of the above probably.  “Go now!”

This time Tony followed orders, and he followed them to a tee.  Sam was there, grappling with the robots in the air, taking as many as he could with him as he drew them away from the fight so Tony could make an escape.  They were crawling all over him, desperately pulling at his wings, but they wouldn’t stop him.  Tony took the opportunity and tucked Natasha against his chest.  He put all of his remaining power into the thrusters and launched from the ground.  As he streaked away, he glared at Barnes, who was still standing there with his goddamn empty expression and his goddamn _useless_ rifle that hadn’t fired and hadn’t saved Natasha from getting hurt.

And he glared at Steve, who immediately went to his friend’s side and had his back as the fight raged on around them.

* * *

“What the hell was that?” Tony shouted when the team was back at the Tower.  They were gathered in the common room, bruised and dirty and exhausted, but that didn’t stop him from bringing this to a head.  It deserved to be brought to a head.  Now probably wasn’t the time.  They were coming down from the battle, from the rush of adrenaline and the exertion of fighting.  Their panic was spent now that they knew Natasha would be okay.  The wound hadn’t been overly serious, but she needed to spend the night in the hospital.  Thor was there as well after half a building had collapsed on him.  He wasn’t badly injured, either, but it was one more thing that made Tony angrier, and he was tired of pretending like this was fine when it wasn’t.  “You had a clear shot!  Why the hell didn’t you take it?”

Barnes was staring at him, his expression disturbingly unreadable.  He looked frightening, every bit like the Winter Soldier and nothing like this man Steve thought he was, and that should have been enough warning for Tony to back off.  He’d never been good at taking a hint.  “Leave me alone.”  It was the first thing Barnes had ever really said to him, and the words were spoken with venom and laced with a threat.

“Guys, let’s not do this now,” Sam said.  He stood in between Tony and Barnes, shaking his head with a plea in his eyes.  “We’re all tired and banged up.  Let’s not take it out on each other.”  He was trying to keep the peace.  But this had been building for months, growing in the shadows and fueled by all the moments where they hadn’t addressed it.  This wasn’t going to be put aside.  This was it.  The culmination of something that should have _never_ gotten so bad.

“Not until you answer my question,” Tony hissed.  “Nat got shot because you didn’t protect her.”

Barnes did him the honor of not arguing that point at least.  He glared at Tony, _glared_ with eyes full of ice and ire, and Tony justly took a tiny step back.  “You should have followed orders,” Barnes lowly declared.

Bruce put his hand on Tony’s shoulder, knowing where this was going and doing his damnedest to prevent it from going there.  “Tony, let it go.  Natasha’s okay.  She’ll be fine.  It was a mistake.”

“No, it was _no_ mistake.  And I want a goddamn answer.  I’m not letting it go until he explains why he stood there, holding his gun and _not_ shooting the things that took Nat down.  She’s in the hospital because of that!  She could have been killed!”

“Tony,” Steve said softly.  He looked more worn and wearier than all of them.  And of all of them, he was the one with the right to be angry.  He was their leader.  It was his job to call the shots, to make the decisions, and the team had to follow them or people got hurt and missions failed.  They’d won the day, but just barely.  And two of them had been injured in the process.  Tony had disobeyed an order.  Barnes had, too.  However, Steve didn’t seem angry.  Tony had been on the receiving end of Captain America’s particular brand of disappointment in the past (way more times than he cared to remember, if he was honest with himself).  It was brutal to endure because Steve could dress him down for his recklessness and his mistakes so calmly and coolly.  In those moments, he wasn’t a friend who wore an easy smile and always offered up his help no matter the situation.  He was a commanding officer, and a damn intimidating one.  Tony almost preferred that to the burdened defeat splayed across Steve’s filthy, _young_ face.  “Don’t.  Not now.  We’ll work it out later.”

“Later?  Cap, you can’t be serious.”

“ _Later._   Bruce is right.  Nat’s okay.  Thor’s okay.  We’re all okay, and we won, so it’s fine.  We’re a new team with new members.  New dynamics.  It’s going to take some getting used to for all of us.”

It wasn’t like Steve to procrastinate or defer or give up.  It wasn’t like Steve to make excuses or brush things aside.  That pissed Tony off even more.  “New members, huh.  I don’t remember asking _him_ to be an Avenger.”

Barnes didn’t so much as blink.  The guy was a goddamn rock.  A machine.  A _monster_.  “You didn’t.  Captain America did.”

“Uh, last I checked, you’re living under _my_ roof and eating _my_ food and hanging out with _my_ friends.  That means you sure as shit need my permission to be here.”  Clint was up and off the couch, standing next to Barnes and darting worried eyes between him and Tony.  The anger and hurt and betrayal radiating from Tony’s heart was unstoppable.  And the wrath building in Barnes’ eyes was undeniable.  “And last I checked, Steve’s friends call him ‘Steve’, not ‘Captain America’.”

Barnes’ face finally manifested an expression other than stony apathy.  It was pain and uncertainty.  Part of Tony hated seeing it.  The other part was _glad_ for it.  “Tony!” Steve barked.  “Enough!”

“Guys, back off,” Sam pleaded.  He put his hands on Tony’s shoulders and gently maneuvered him away.  Tony shoved him off.  “Come on!  We’re all on the same side.”

“Bullshit,” Tony snarled.  “Why didn’t you take the shot?  Huh?  You didn’t get the right order from the right people?  The right trigger?  Oh, that’s right.  You can’t _remember_ all the training you had.  You can’t remember all the innocents you’ve killed with it.”  It was pouring from his mouth, all this filth that grown way beyond its bounds, and he couldn’t stop it now.  “I’ll do you a favor and _remind_ you.  Howard and Maria Stark.  You remember them?  You remember shooting the tires out of my dad’s car?  You remember watching him lose control and drive it off the road?”

“Alright, alright, easy,” Bruce said.  “Tony, come on.  It’s okay.”

“It’s _not_ okay!  I have put up with this bullshit for long enough!  He’s living here, pretending like he can just say he’s sorry and that he doesn’t remember and that’s enough to make it all go away.  It’s not going away.  He’s not an Avenger!  He’s the Winter Soldier!  He can’t be anything else!”

Barnes lunged at him.  He pushed through Sam and Clint and Steve, reaching with that dangerous metal arm for the soft flesh of Tony’s neck.  Bruce grabbed Tony and pulled him back while the other three men shouted and got in the middle of the fight.  A small voice of self-preservation piped up in the back of Tony’s mind, reminding him that this was really stupid.  Barnes was significantly stronger than him and the world’s deadliest assassin.  Without his armor, he was just a man, and Barnes had killed hundreds of men.

“Buck.  Bucky, stop,” Steve ordered in as calm and as soft a voice as he could manage.  He moved angry, worried eyes between Barnes and Tony, comforting the former and pleading with the latter to not make this worse.  Steve was so damn naïve and blind and innocent.  Tony couldn’t believe it.  “We are not doing this right now.  Understand me?  We are _not_ doing this!  That’s an order!”

“I want to know something else,” Tony said, outright disobeying Steve _again_.  “Do you remember shooting this man who you claim to call your friend?”  Steve blanched and every muscle in his body visibly clenched.  He winced and closed his eyes as if in surrender.  By now that voice of self-preservation inside Tony’s head was _screaming_ that he stop himself.  And it was married with a voice of shame and disgust.  But he didn’t stop.  He was so angry.  Who the hell was Barnes to come into their lives like this?  Who the hell was he?  “Huh?  Do you remember that, asshole?  Because you almost _murdered_ him.”

Barnes’ expression broke in pain.  His restraint utterly shattered.  The next thing Tony knew he was flat on his back in the middle of his coffee table.  The glass broke under him and metal bent and the ceiling was spinning and his heart was thundering in his ears.  “Whoa, whoa!”

“Stop!  Take it easy!  Stop!”

“Bucky, no!”

Bruce was there, hovering over him and shaking his head in worry and admonishment.  Tony groaned through the pain in his skull, his neck, and his back.  The impact had _hurt_ , jostling all of his injuries from the battle in addition to the force of being tackled by the Winter Soldier.  “What the hell is the matter with you?” Bruce hissed as he helped him gingerly climb out of the twisted, shattered debris.  He wiped the glass away from Tony’s clothes and quickly looked him over for signs of injury.  Tony knew he was fine.

Even after Clint and Sam had pulled him off, Barnes’s metal fist was still raised, not quite closing all the way, the fingers jerking with a disturbing lack of coordination.  Steve had his hand around Barnes’ wrist, and he was pulling him back.  He turned imploring eyes between his two friends, his two _friends_ , and logic briefly won out over rage and Tony realized anew the awful situation in which he was thrusting Steve.  God, what the hell was he thinking?  Shame made him lower his gaze, but that didn’t stop the angry burn of tears.  He thought about his mother and father, lying still and lifeless in their caskets.  He thought about all the things he wanted to tell his dad, things he’d only understood when he’d gotten older, how that moment where they’d died had helped define him.  He thought about Afghanistan and Obadiah’s betrayal and how he’d almost lost his life because his father hadn’t been there to help him with the palladium poisoning.  His relationship with Howard Stark could have been entirely different if he’d had the chance to understand and forgive what he hadn’t back when he’d been a kid.

And he thought about Steve, lying in the ICU, shot and stabbed because he’d saved the world and was barely hanging on because of it.  He never realized how much it had bothered him.  All of it.  He’d powered through losing his parents, hiding it with drinking and partying and inventing.  And he’d powered through what had happened to Steve, too, picking up the shattered pieces of SHIELD and focusing on building a world where the Avengers stood tall against darkness and none of them _ever_ got hurt like that again.  Barnes wasn’t a part of that would.  Barnes could _never_ be a part of that world.

“This ends,” Steve said lowly.  That hint of defeat was gone from his face and gone from his voice.  There was only the firm tone of their leader.  “It’s been going on for weeks, and this is where it ends.  You guys need to make it work.  Both of you, because what happened today can’t ever happen again if we’re going to be a team.”

“We’re not a team,” Tony snapped.  “Not with him here.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Stark,” Barnes snarled.  “You don’t know a damn thing!”

“I know that you’re lying.  You remember _exactly_ what you did!  Get the hell out of my tower!”

“Did you hear me?  Everybody, cool down!  Stop it!” Steve yelled.  He pushed Barnes back.  Bruce did the same to Tony.

“You’re not a hero,” Tony seethed, glaring at Barnes.  “Not anymore.  Not ever again.”

Barnes choked out half a sob and wrenched free from Clint’s arms and Steve’s grip, driving the latter with him across the remains of the coffee table.  Steve stumbled, caught by surprise.  The metal fist that was meant for Tony’s face glanced Steve’s shoulder instead, and, with his balance already compromised, he tripped over his own feet and the glass and twisted metal beneath him and fell with a yelp.

The room was quiet.  Tony didn’t know why.  Not right away, anyway.  Steve was laying in the mess, not really moving, which was weird.  Barnes hadn’t hit him that hard, at least not hard enough to hurt a super soldier.  And he hadn’t fallen that hard, either.  So what the hell?

Sam immediately dropped to his knees beside Steve.  “Cap, you okay?”

Steve said nothing.  His face was growing paler each second.  Something was wrong.

“Steve?” Clint asked.  Worry broke his taut expression.  “Steve, you alright?”

Something was _really_ wrong.

Steve coughed up _blood_.

“Oh, shit,” Sam breathed, and he rolled Steve onto his back.  The huge piece of glass that had cut its way through his suit and into his ribcage was ripped back out with a spurt of red.  There was a hole in his side letting blood loose in a torrent and a huge crimson puddle of it beneath him.  “Oh, shit!”

The others moved fast.  Tony didn’t.  Tony stood there, watching in horror, as Sam scrambled to the kitchen for some towels and Clint put pressure on the gushing wound with his bare hands and Bruce reached reddened fingers to Steve’s pulse point under his jaw.  Barnes stood there, too.  Staring.  _Staring._

“It must’ve pierced his lung,” Bruce said breathlessly.  “Get him up!  He’s choking!  Tony!  _Tony!_   Call for an ambulance!”

He still didn’t move.  _He still didn’t move._

Clint fumbled for his own phone, crawling aside when Sam returned with the towels.  His frantic words to the emergency dispatcher didn’t register in Tony’s head.  Nothing registered aside from the blood.  Steve coughed.  He might have tried to say something because his lips moved.  Maybe.  Tony wasn’t sure even though his gaze never left Steve’s white, agonized face.  Steve’s eyes slipped shut.  “Steve, stay awake!  Steve!”

“The EMTs are coming!”

Barnes broke from his stasis, dropped to his knees, and scooped Steve’s body in his arms like he weighed nothing.  Then he was running, running toward the elevator, Bruce and Sam and Clint following.  They were fighting to keep up and hold the towels against the wound and Steve’s head up so he could breathe.  They were taking Steve down, down to the lobby where help was hopefully coming, and they were dripping blood all over the expensive carpets and polished floors.

“Oh, God,” Tony whispered, staring at the trail of red.  “Oh, God.  Oh, God…”  Only when they were long gone and he was alone did he collapse to his knees and ask himself what he’d done.

* * *

Steve was going to be fine.  A few hours of surgery had repaired his punctured lung.  Now he was in the ICU in a private room, hooked to life support and being pumped full of blood and fluids and pain killers strong enough to keep him soundly unconscious.  Bruce was fairly confident with his accelerated healing that he would be off the ventilator the next day and home in a couple more after that.  But it had still been a scare.  A bad one.  And it had happened so fast.  So goddamn _fast_.

Tony was shaken.  _Really_ shaken.  He sat in the waiting room with the rest of team, silent and forlorn and completely lost.  Clint sat, too.  Sam paced.  Both of them were covered in red.  Bruce had gone in and out of the surgical areas, offering his advice and knowledge as he could, but now he was leaning against the nurses’ station sipping coffee to stay awake.  Barnes was as stiff as a statue against the wall.  Nobody said a thing despite their relief that this was going to end okay.  They’d been lucky.  Three of them had been hurt that day, one not even in battle.  That didn’t bode well for their odds of functioning as an effective team.  Tony thought back to what Bruce had said two years ago aboard the helicarrier when their merry little band of misfits had been tentatively (and explosively) forming.  What had he called them?  _A chemical mixture that creates chaos.  A time bomb._   They’d thrown one more freak, one more anomaly, one more unpredictable element in that mix.  And they’d exploded.  They’d hurt themselves.  Broken themselves.

And he’d been the catalyst.  He expected the Avengers’ wrath.  He expected Barnes’ wrath.  But there wasn’t any.  There wasn’t much of anything.  Just silence and grief and shock.

Eventually a doctor came out and told them they could see Steve, albeit one at a time.  Tony’s hands were shaking as he wiped them down his face.  He looked over at Barnes.  “You go first,” he said.  Barnes still said nothing.  Through the veil of his brown hair he was pale.  His face was still so hardened, but Tony knew well enough now to see the pain in his eyes.  And the surprise that made him hesitate.  They were all watching him, watching to see if he felt safe enough around them without Steve to trust their sincerity.  To trust their acceptance. 

No, to trust Tony’s acceptance.  Tony swallowed the lump in his throat.  “You’re his best friend,” he said softly.  His voice was rough with emotion.  “You should be first.  Go.”

Barnes looked as anchorless as Tony felt as he finally pushed himself off the wall and walked slowly past the team toward the doctor.  The man led Barnes down the ward and he disappeared as they turned a corner.

They sat silently again for a while after that.  Eventually they all got their turns to go in and assure themselves that Steve was okay.  Tony was the last one.  He waited until he was the only one left.  He wasn’t even sure he deserved to go at all.  The last few hours had been a blur, and he was too crushed to be anything other than numb.  Did the others blame him?  He couldn’t tell.  He was usually so good at reading people, but he really didn’t know.  Finally Sam came out, looking worn but eager to go home and get cleaned up.  “You gonna go in?”

Tony leaned back in his chair.  Everything hurt.  He probably deserved far worse.  “I don’t know.”

Sam stared at him.  He frowned a little, deflating in weariness.  “I understand why you’re upset.  I was too when Steve and I went out there to get him.  It was hard after what happened.   Really hard.  It was hard to accept that Steve was going to do this no matter how many times I told him it was stupid-ass crazy.  And that it was just plain wrong.  But I kinda realized after seeing what this meant to Steve, after seeing Barnes how Steve saw him, that there’s no right or wrong in this.  It is what it is.”  He sighed.  “He’s damaged, Stark.  They really did force him.  I thought before that maybe he _knew_ on some level that he was hurting people, but I don’t think so now.  They turned him into a machine for one purpose and one purpose only.  Steve thinks it’s his duty to bring him back from that.  You know him, so you know that.  And you know he’d do it for any of us.”

Tony sighed and rubbed his hands down his face.  “I know that,” he murmured.

“This wasn’t your fault.  But it wasn’t Barnes’, either.  It was just one of those things.”  Sam shrugged and a small grin, a meager ghost of his normally infinitely bright one, curled his lips.  “As a wise man once said, shit happens.  Move on.”

Tony thought about that for what felt to be a long time after Sam was gone.  Then he dropped his hands to his thighs loudly and pushed himself to his feet.  He slowly and wearily walked down the corridor to Steve’s room.  It was dark inside, the lights dimmed because it was so late at night.  He looked through the door and found Barnes sitting there beside Steve’s bed.  Steve himself was asleep, connected to way too many machines for Tony’s comfort, but his vitals were strong and he was doing well.  Tony blinked and saw this same scene from four months ago, only it had been Sam beside Steve’s bed and Steve hadn’t been doing well at all.  The feelings were the same, though.  A hollow ache of failure.  Of letting someone down.  Of anger.

Maybe Barnes wasn’t the only one in repair.

Barnes turned when Tony stepped inside.  His expression was still lifeless, but his eyes were wet, like he wanted to cry but couldn’t because he didn’t know how.  Tony saw that he had Steve’s hand folded between the metal one and the flesh and blood one.  That seemed _wrong_ to Tony, inhuman and unnatural, but he realized it was all Barnes could be now.  The Winter Soldier was a part of him but maybe not all of him.

They didn’t speak for an eternity of awkward tension and barely contained strife.  Then Tony cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “I, uh…  Well, if you’ve got this, I’ll just–”

“You were right.”  Barnes’ soft declaration was incredibly loud, drowning out the soft swish of the respirator and the beeping of the monitors and even Tony’s own thundering heart.

“Right about what?”

“I remember killing them.”  The man in front of him was bent with the weight of the world bearing down on him.  A violent world he’d helped create.  An evil world of which he’d been a part.  But not willingly.  Once upon a time, he’d been a soldier, a Howling Commando, and Steve’s best friend.  For the first time since Barnes had moved into the Tower, Tony felt sorry for him.  “I don’t remember why.  I don’t remember who they were.  But I remember pulling the trigger.  I remember…  Some things come to me.  Flashes of things.  I know I did it, but I can’t tell you anything about it.”  He shook his head.  “I’m trying to get better.  Steve’s helping me.  He’s so damn sure I can do it.  So damn sure.”  Barnes’ voice dropped off.  He looked down at Steve’s limp hand clasped between his own.  “He keeps telling me I’m strong.  That I can get past this.  That I can _remember_ all this.  Be who I was before…  But I don’t know.  I don’t know if I want to remember.”  He straightened a little bit.  “Maybe that makes me a coward.  I know I’m sure as hell not a hero, if I ever was one.”

“You were,” Tony softly said.  Barnes turned and appraised him emptily.  “And you still are to him.”

“He’s so stupid.” There was a touch of anger coloring Barnes’ voice, but mostly it was grief.  It was harsh and unyielding.  “So damn stupid.  Always has been.  I don’t know much about him or about me, but I know that.  Things come to me, you know?  Random things.  Like I can remember him getting his face kicked in because some punk badmouthed something and he stood up to him, but I can’t remember I said or did even though I think I was there.  He says I picked him up and kept him going.  He says I did that a lot.  Picked him up and carried him.  Took care of him, so he’s taking care of me now.  I think…  I don’t know what I think.  Not allowed to think.  Hurts.”  He was dark and angry.  “Everything is so simple to him.  He keeps saying the same stuff over and over again.  Pick yourself back up and keep going.  _Fix_ it.  Make it right.  Carry each other.  Keep fighting.  So stupid.”

Tony shrugged slightly.  “That’s who he is.  For better or for worse.”

“For better,” Barnes lowly but firmly declared, “but damn if it doesn’t make me hate myself every time he gets hurt.  And damn if it doesn’t drive me crazy trying to believe him.”

They had that in common at least.  “Look–”

“You know why I didn’t take that shot?”  Tony felt himself stiffen.  He wasn’t sure he still cared.  It seemed so monumental before.  Barnes finally turned and looked at him.  “My arm wouldn’t work.  I couldn’t pull the trigger.”  A stinging wave of shame rolled over Tony, prickling his gooseflesh before sinking straight to the pit of his stomach.  There was a possibility Barnes was toying with him.  There was also a possibility he was saying this to hurt him or to blame him.  He sure as hell blamed himself.  But as Tony stared into Barnes’ eyes, he realized it wasn’t about that at all.  He was just telling him the truth.  “I’m sorry.”  He wasn’t sure for what Barnes was apologizing for.  For the debacle of the battle today?  For Natasha getting hurt?  For Steve getting hurt?  For moving into the Tower and setting all of this into motion?  For shooting Steve?  For killing his parents?  The thing was, though, when Tony thought about, _really_ thought about it, it didn’t matter.  Somehow it just didn’t.

“So am I.”  He surprised himself when he heard the soft words coming from his own mouth.  He hadn’t meant to say them.  And he didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for, either.  But somehow that still didn’t matter.

Tony finally ventured deeper into the room.  He walked slowly and carefully across to the other side of the bed.  “Mind if I stay for a while?”

Barnes didn’t answer.  He went back to looking at Steve.  Tony sank into the chair and watched Steve, too.  The silence that returned wasn’t so tense.  And it wasn’t teeming with that anger that had driven all of this for weeks and weeks.  It wasn’t filled with so much resentment and bitterness and pain.  It was just quiet.  Of course, all of that was still there.  It would be for a long time because scars like these didn’t simply go away.  They didn’t heal easily.  Tony hadn’t been lying before when he’d said he wasn’t as good as Steve.  He couldn’t just _forgive_ like Steve did _._   And Barnes couldn’t just get better like Steve wanted.  But it was something.  It was a start.

* * *

Sometime the next morning the doctors came to take Steve off the respirator.  And not long after that he regained consciousness.  “Tony,” he croaked, opening reddened, hazy eyes and staring hazily at Tony’s slumped form in the chair beside the bed. 

Tony lurched from something of a doze and leaned forward.  He rubbed the sleep from his face and forced himself to focus.  “You look like shit,” he said.  He managed half a grin, but mostly it was just to cover his relief and his guilt.

Steve groaned.  “Don’t feel much better,” he mumbled.  He winced as he tried to sit up a little, but he gave up with that stupidity and slumped down against the pillows.  Tony went to get him some water.  “Where’s Bucky?  Did you kill him?”

Tony couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not.  Something told him even Steve wasn’t sure.  “No.  Sam came to take him home to get cleaned up.”

“You said home.”  Steve chanced a smile.  “I guess that means he can stay.”

“Just a figure of speech.”  That was a joke.  Tony smiled and handed the cup of water to Steve.  Steve wasn’t quite capable of handling it on his own yet, so Tony helped him sit up.  They were quiet as Steve sipped.  Tony suddenly couldn’t stand it anymore.  “Steve, I’m so–”

“Save it,” Steve said.  “It was an accident.”

“But it would have never happened if I hadn’t–”

_“Save it.”_

Tony closed his mouth and looked down at the younger man, desperately trying to figure out if it was okay.  If Steve was angry.  Sam was right; Steve getting hurt was just one of those things that happened.  A series of bad choices that had led to an unexpected and unfortunate disaster.  An accident in the strictest sense of the word.  If Bucky’s punch hadn’t hit Steve just where it had.  If Steve hadn’t tripped.  If Tony hadn’t broken the coffee table and that piece of glass hadn’t been sticking up exactly where it had and at the angle it had and if Steve hadn’t fallen exactly as he had…  It wouldn’t have happened.

And they’d probably still be at each other’s throats.

Life was still screwed up that way.

Steve wasn’t angry.  Not really.  He winced again, settling back against the hospital bed with his hand pressed lightly over his injured side, and closed his eyes.  Tony expected a lengthy speech.  He expected to be properly and sternly reprimanded (Lord knew he deserved it and Lord knew Steve was capable of it).  And he expected something about how, even though Barnes had been Steve’s friend first, Tony was no less his friend now.  And something about not putting Steve in this position, because it hurt too much to have his team and his friends and his _family_ at odds.  And something about needing their support, now more than ever.  And something about teamwork and trust and rebuilding broken relationships.  All of that.

But Steve surprised him sometimes.  “You’re an engineer, Tony.  I know you can make this work.”

Tony released a slow breath.  Then he nodded.  “Alright, Cap.  I’ll try.”

“Thanks,” Steve whispered.  “You don’t know what that means to me.”

Tony did, and he smiled, too.  “You’re welcome.”

* * *

Thor and Natasha were back a day later.  Steve came home the day after that.  The team breathed a collective sigh of relief to have everyone back in the Tower, safe and healthy and relatively whole.  They were all ready to put the whole mess behind them.  All of them, even Tony.  As Barnes was walking Steve to his bed, Tony watched.  He didn’t think either of them saw him from where he stood in the hall.  Barnes moved slowly, carefully bearing Steve’s weight so as not to stress or pull on his stitches as he limped.  Barnes helped him gingerly lower himself onto the mattress.  While Steve sat there, panting but smiling, Barnes pulled the comforter and sheets loose.  He was just as slow and just as careful as he got Steve lying down.  He pulled the comforter up over him and tucked him underneath it.  They shared a couple of soft words, fulfilling their destinies, it seemed, or reenacting a scene from their pasts.  A scene familiar and comforting and true to them both, even if Barnes didn’t know it yet.  Maybe this would help him remember.

Steve smiled tiredly and said something that made Barnes smile, too.  If Tony stepped closer, he probably could have heard it, but he didn’t.  It wasn’t his place, and he was alright with that.

Long after they were done, he rapped on the open door to Steve’s room.  “Hey,” he said casually.

Barnes leaned up, his smile fading away.  He regarded Tony with those deadened eyes again.  No, not really deadened.  Not anymore.  There was a little light in them now.  Light and maybe even hope.  A little faith.  And that weight on his shoulders didn’t seem so crushing.  He stood taller.  He looked more human.  More sure of himself.

Tony put his hands in his pockets and tipped his head toward the metal arm hanging semi-uselessly at Barnes’ side.  “So I have some time.  I can take a look at that.  Get it working right again.  If you want.”  Barnes glanced at Steve like he was waiting for a sign.  Tony wasn’t sure if he got it because Steve was already asleep.  But he turned with a slow breath and regarded Tony evenly, as soft and open as he had ever seen him.  Tony shrugged.  “Come on.”

It took another moment, but Barnes nodded and left Steve’s side and walked to Tony’s.  Tony nodded, too.  It wasn’t always easy, finding a way to accept and forgive and rebuild.  But he’d done it before, and he could do it again.  “It’s no big deal.  I can fix anything.”

“That’s what Steve told me,” Barnes softly said.

Tony couldn’t help his surprised grunt, but he did manage to keep the ridiculously proud smile from his face.  Well, almost.

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel to this story can be found here: ["Common Ground"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2521013).


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